


You Thought You Were Spider-Man

by wrongpuppy



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: An argument could be made that there still isn't, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Peter Parker, Casual Violence, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Deadpool being Deadpool, Eventual Smut, Except it's the evil voices in his head, M/M, Pancakes, Self-Conscious Wade Wilson, Spideypool - Freeform, There wasn't supposed to be a plot, There's not really a thought box, Threats of Violence, Top Wade Wilson, Vanessa has a cameo, but she's not really part of the story, there's sex at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 05:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18542908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrongpuppy/pseuds/wrongpuppy
Summary: Dating Peter while the kid still clung to his super-secret Spider-Man identity was really difficult for Wade, only because he was never sure who he was flirting with.  And neither was Peter.  And then it got confusing, because either Spider-Man or Peter was mad at him, and he couldn't tell which one was which, because he thought they were the same.Or Peter needs to make some clarifications and set some boundaries.





	1. In Which There Is A Cursory Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Characters are not mine; I'm just smashing them together and telling them to kiss now.  
> 2\. The Voices - As I understand it, the inner voices are usually depicted in comic form as one or two additional text boxes. I have opted to go with something closer to what it sounds like in my head when I'm feeling scattered and nervy. Words and thoughts fire away without any kind of filter. I realize in written form it reads a little confusing, but it's kinda supposed to be. There are a few distinct voices which can be read through context, e.g. the ultra-violent, the constantly clueless, the creepy kid voice (sorry for that, but I did it mostly to annoy myself... I didn't say any of this made sense).  
> 3\. This is a work of fiction, and it is in no way intended to be a commentary on or guide to handling mental illness or domestic violence. If someone stalks you, breaks into your apartment, and/or threatens you with a knife, it's not cute. You should probably pepper spray them and call the cops. SSDGM.  
> 4\. I wrote this story in 2016, and Marvel studios had only JUST gotten ownership to use Spider-Man, and I don't think I knew who Tom Holland was. I had Andrew Garfield and creature13's artwork as my inspiration for an adult Peter Parker.  
> 5\. I originally wrote this story for my darling Spitcritter, and they liked it, and said I should share it. That's why you're seeing this. Please don't set me on fire.

The first time that Deadpool saw Spider-Man, he had been huddling under some old boxes behind a dumpster, and general consensus was very quickly reached that Wade Wilson had a _thing_ for the webspinner.  Basically, everyone shut up; even that _one_ stopped screaming, and they all watched as the slender form of a dancer glided through the alley on a single strand of silk.  It was like watching a bloody and bruised unicorn prance by: totally unprecedented considering the current circumstances, and therefore magical.

There had been an argument about what to do with that ass after that, the mob inside howling out until they broke into two factions.  One side was sure that the wall-crawler needed to be bent in half and ravaged within an inch of his life, and the other was in agreement, but they had a timetable. Side A was sure that they should be fucking the eight-eyes blind _right now_.  Side B suggested that they introduce themselves first.  There may never have been a resolution if someone hadn’t decided that it might be hotter if the lithe little swinger knew to scream _Wade’s_ name when he came, and they jumped ship.  Then it was decided; make friends with Spider-Man.  Then kiss Spider-Man.  _Then_ fuck Spider-Man.

**

The first time that Deadpool saw Peter Parker, he had been called into Stark Tower for some discussion re: dirty deeds done dirt cheap, and the clerk had taken too long to collect him before he got bored and followed a lab tour into an elevator. While walking through the biomechanical engineering lab, he caught sight of the slender brunet with obscenely large hazel eyes, and everyone shut up again.  In fact he forgot that he had idly picked up one of the acetylene torches (what on _Earth_ would they need to solder in here?), and it wasn’t until the pretty thing looked at him sharply and frowned in consternation that he realized that he had been about to set a fire out of boredom.  Y’know, the boredom that he’d had until he saw THIS tasty dish.  And just a _small_ fire.

He had tried to salvage the situation, managing quite successfully he thought, because the lovely creature had wound up laughing at his jokes.  Well one of his jokes.  Well, someone in there was responsible for it.  He had asked for a name and number, and gotten neither; so he eyed the name badge and memorized “Parker, P.”  A few computer hacks, a brief background check, and a bogus phone call posing as a debt collector later, he had Peter’s name and address and next of kin (which seemed like a _really_ short list) as well as a couple other informational sundries that wouldn’t be missed (like Social Security Number, State ID number and photo [seriously, did the kid not have a driver’s license? What the hell was wrong with these Millenials?] and basically everything he would need to commit identity theft, which he totally would _not do_ ).

There was another argument about what to do, but the split majority was clearly in agreement that he should be cool and ask the boy out on a date, instead of going over to his house unannounced and teaching him _exactly_ how to drive a stick shift.

The kid declined that week.  And the next. And the next.  And then on the fourth week?  He declined again.  It just kept going.  It was like watching the unstoppable force of a freight train meeting the inertia of a broken down school bus full of children on the tracks.  Just really disappointing every time, but _so_ worth trying again.

**

The second time that Deadpool saw Spider-Man, he followed him home.  He had to keep his distance, of course; those famed Spidey-senses were supposed to be hell on trackers.  But Wade managed.  With his trusty sniper scope on the HK PSG1A1, he watched Spider-Man enter the building that Peter lived in.  On the floor that Peter lived on.  Through the window that Peter lived at.  (“Stalking” was such an ugly word.  You didn’t say “stalking?” Maybe you were thinking about stockings, because we mentioned silk earlier, and muttered it out loud.  It’s understandable, but please try to focus).  Then he watched as Spider-Man reached his graceful hands to his mask and pull it off with body language that conveyed exhaustion, frustration and tension.

There was a flurry of observations on exactly what Wade could do to release that tension, but ultimately it was vetoed. Before he could get a glimpse of the face, the Spider-Man wandered out of the range of his scope, and the factions immediately degraded into petty arguing.  One side was certain that Spider-Man _was_ Peter Parker.  One side was sure that Spider-Man was Parker’s roommate.  One side imagined what a threesome with Peter and Spider-Man would look like.  One side was not interested in any of this and demanded that he play back that fantasy of Parker and the webhead until he had jerked himself to completion.  One side could not understand why they had gone through all the trouble of bringing out his most favourite sniper rifle only to use it to gawp into a cutie-honey’s bedroom and _not_ to kill someone.  One was screaming, because it was all too much; the pretty unicorn had taken off its face.  And one side raged that he hadn’t been gifted with a useful power, like x-ray vision like Superman.

All the voices agreed then, fuck Superman.  But not like with the sexy fucking.  Just with a petrified sea cucumber and an ill-used jar of Vaseline®, like the kind you accidentally find in a truck stop bathroom, and you don’t want to know why it’s there, but you’re really worried that you actually _do_ know why it’s there, and you have no idea how many hands have touched it, or whether those hands were clean—in fact _when’s_ the last time they cleaned this place—and you realize that there is stuff crusting on the outside of the jar that no person outside of a crime lab would be able to identify, and you need to leave, dear god you need to leave right now.

**

The third time he saw Spider-Man, he got punched in the face, and there were words spoken ( _harsh_ words).  Seems like Spider-Man had already formed some ideas about Deadpool. Probably had something to do with the recent, very well-documented killing spree he had gone on down in Chicago (there _might_ have been an explosion…some little old ladies _may_ have been shocked by some strong language), but that was, like, a _job_.  He had a contract and everything.  You didn’t just back out of a contract.  And honestly, if the little web-slinger had had a problem with Wade taking on a job out of State, he should have said something when Deadpool was negotiating terms with that super-secret faceless corporate entity that came to his least awful safehouse with the piles of money.  It wasn’t _his_ fault Spider-Man wasn’t there.

So, after a few hurtful comments, and a fight with some kind of… rhino?... (what the fuck was up with Spideykin’s antagonists, anyways?  Were they all hit with a brick in the head in third grade or something?) (Wade knew a guy that that happened to, and it was really sad.  Every time they played flag football…) … Anyways, after some blood was shed and _someone_ left in a huff, Deadpool rushed to his vantage point (better angled now, to see into Peter’s bedroom) and snagged his scope.  He watched until well after midnight, when the cooled-off Spider-Man once again broke into Parker’s flat.

This time, from his most excellent of crow’s nests, complete with chimichangas and Red Vines, he saw Spider-Man remove his mask again, and it was confirmed.  Spider-Man was Peter Parker.

 That meant the threesome was out of the picture.  General agreement was reached that this was a disappointment, but the overall benefits would _more_ than make up for that loss.

**

If Deadpool would have said he lost count of how many times he asked Parker out on a date, he would have been lying.  He watched Parker for months, which turned into years.  He also teamed up with Spider-Man, sometimes out of necessity, sometimes because the web-slinger insisted he needed babysitting, and sometimes Wade did it just to annoy him.  He never forgot who was who, and which one was the same, but, although parts of him were still confused about it, he never forgot what he knew.

 Then one day, after a long stint of _not_ publically killing a lot of people, on a random encounter, he had asked the kid out again.  The kid was wearing his Parker costume that day, working in Stark’s weird microchip ‘n’ bunny division.  Deadpool couldn’t remember exactly why he was there, but he knew that security would be coming to collect him soon anyway, so he wasn’t worried about missing an appointment.  Before he allowed security to tase him and remove him bodily from the room, he asked again.  He didn’t know exactly what it was that he said (someone must have been _really_ on fire that day), but the kid had looked at Deadpool with his fanfiction-green eyes, and said yes.  To dinner.  _Nothing else_.

Deadpool was in such a good mood; he didn’t kill anyone that day, out of respect for Peter.  And for Spider-Man.  Who was the same person.  Yeah.  For real. Believe it.  Spider-Man was Peter Parker.

And then the date went well.


	2. In Which There Is Fighting and Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool and Spider-Man fight some bad guys, and Wade gets confused.

Some Months Later...

 

“But seriously, what kind of hardcore squats are you doing to get that ass into those tights?” Deadpool chattered at Spider-Man when the webhead flipped back to his side, lithely avoiding the rough enforcer’s swinging fist.  “Enquiring minds want to know!”

            _Yeah, seriously, he should make a workout video.  Assless Chaps, that’s what we’ll call it.  It’s a double-entendre._

_It’s like the size of a walnut._

_You could bounce a quarter off that thing!_

_Why would you bounce a quarter?_

_Yeah, what would be the point?_

_Wait, why are we carrying change anyway? Are we twelve, ducking into the arcade?_

_Well, we_ are  _featured in those Capcom games._

_But is Spider-Man in those ones?_

_Jesus, just read the Wiki!  He shows up before you do!  Every time!_

“Not now, Wade!” Spider-Man shouted.  One of his hands whipped into the air, articulating a web, and he flew upwards, drawing the thug’s gaze, leaving the man open to Deadpool’s haymaker.  The man dropped like a new-birthed calf (legs everywhere and ugly as sin).

            _Yeah, not now!  For fuck’s sake, you’re crushing a small arms trading ring or something.  You know better._

_He does?_

“I do?” he muttered.

            _Shut up and discombobulate, chuckles!_

There were more men coming.  There were always more men; it was a convenient plot device to prolong a fight scene.  Spider-Man was swinging back down to grab one of the forerunners and snag him into his webs.  With the clear leader gone, all the men halted and stared upwards with jaws open.  Deadpool gave them a half-breath before bringing their attention back to the problem at hand.

“Well, that’s a hero for you,” he announced, and all eyes resettled down on him with the synchronicity of a gaggle of kittens watching the red dot.  “Invites you out to a good ol’ fashioned barn stomp, and then makes off with the caller.  And now you’re stuck with the rhythm section and a stack of hay.”

            _No one knows what a fucking barn stomp is._

_They’re not even called ‘barn stomps.’_

_They are so!_

“The fuck?!” one of the goons snapped.

“Don’t worry, Cupcake, that just means that I’m gonna be leading the dance,” Deadpool said, unsheathing one of his swords in a fluid motion.

“What did I say?!” Spider-Man’s voice rang out from over head.

“They don’t need their ankles in order to live!” he shouted back.

“Get ‘em!” the (new) lead goon hollered.

There was a rush of bodies and with a sigh, Deadpool spun and began attacking with his fist and the pommel of his sword.

            _They need their ankles to dance though._

_Could we focus please?_

_What’s he need to focus for; this is like breathing.  He could do it in his sleep._

_Have we done this in our sleep?_

_Do we sleep?_

_I know I do._

_i can’t; i’m scared of the dark_

_Shut up, no one asked you._

_But for real, has anyone been paying attention to what we do when we’re unconscious?_

_No, I think the lights go out for all of us._

_Huh.  Never thought of that before._

“Shut up!!” Deadpool screamed.  “This is not as easy as I make it look.  No one knows if I’m executing a perfect slow-mo twist-and-shoot in a fanfic with you babbling.  The visual medium doesn’t translate to the page.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Spider-Man asked, dropping down at his side, webbing one of the limitless henchmen in the face.

At that moment, three things happened at once: Deadpool paused and turned to explain the finer points of a ‘pwp’ to the little spinner.  The biggest, meanest tank of a goon barreled into them both.  The alley door that they had been standing in front of broke under the weight of their bodies combined and they all crashed into another setting.

            _Very nice way of changing this up.  Scriptor ex machina._

_But where are we?_

_Shut up and be patient, for god’s sake; if you keep talking we may never find out._

The lighting was much better than the alley, if you considered lush reds and vibrant yellows to be a good swap for shadow blacks and deep blues.  Music was blaring over the sound system and it was clear that they had entered a club.  From the ladies in various stages of undress and the ruddy-faced men half-hard and half-standing at the disruption, it was easily surmised that this was a titty bar. The rest of the henchmen were swarming in after the tank, and the meaner faces of the male audience turned ugly.

“Ooo, someone lost his boner, huh?  Yeah, I hate it when that happens.  I usually try to picture the Flying Nun in her altogethers, and it usually pops right back, guys,” Deadpool advised, jovially grabbing one of his attackers in a headlock.

            _Now twist his neck!_

_no don’t twist the neck, the pretty pony will be mad at you!_

_Oh that’s right, the Spider-Man’s here._

_We want to get into his pants.  Do not snap the neck._

_Yeah, I agree, no snapping._

“Right,” Deadpool muttered, increasing the force of his hold to choke the guy out.

In closed quarters, Spider-Man had less room to play, and it showed that he was at a tactical disadvantage.  He always did better in open, urban settings.  With the low ceiling, he was up on the stage, and about to get his ass handed to him.  With his free hand, Deadpool managed to grab one of the empty pint glasses and lob it expertly at the head of one of the men lurching up behind the kid.  It bounced off the man’s forehead with a satisfying ‘poink,’ and he hit the deck.  Spider-Man did not seem to register the assist, though, as he ducked the swing of one of the burly men.

“Wade?!” a sharp contralto yelped in a tone that said that this was an unexpected and not-quite-welcome surprise.

Deadpool looked over the head of the man he was choking.  “Oh hey Vanessa!”  The man’s fingers were clawing at his forearm, trying to find purchase on the leather.  “I didn’t know you still worked here!” His voice was cheery.

His former lover leveled her dark eyes at him, and he grinned.  Keeping his grip tight, he attempted to shove the choking man out of sight.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she growled.

            _pretty lady._

_Jesus, does her ass ever clock out? I mean it has to be well past quitting time._

_Nope.  Her ass doesn’t quit.  Her ass would_ never  _quit!_

_It’s true; it is the secretary-general of the united nation of asses, and it is rocking in the free world._

_It’s a card-carrying member of the Asses for Hope and Change campaign.  It’s going to fight for world peace._

_I thought that was our Petey’s ass._

            _I thought it was Spider-Man’s._

_No, Pete and Spider-Man are the same person.  We’ve been over this._

_What?_

“Can we focus on what’s really important, though?!” he snapped at everyone.  Riveting his attention on his ex, he cocked his head to one side. “You are keeping it _tight_ , Nessie.  Looking good!”

“I would be flattered if I didn’t know you were avoiding the question,” she said flatly.  Her arms were crossed, and she did not appear to be impressed.

“Oh this?” Deadpool pulled out his victim who was losing the battle with consciousness, his hands flapping weakly and legs wobbling.  He gave a long squeeze and let the body drop.  “Oh we were just rough-housing a little.  Y’know, like you do.  Hero stuff.”

“Hero stuff,” Vanessa repeated, face unreadable, but her tone was skeptical.

Hoping for some help from his slightly more charming friend, he turned to see if Spider-Man was on hand to dig him out of this deep hole he seemed to be in.

            _Snickers._

Spider-Man was on stage, and had discovered that the stripper’s pole was actually really useful in keeping his opponents at bay.  He had grabbed the pole and was gyrating around, throwing kicks and twisting out of reach, perpetually in motion.  His skin-tight suit was thoughtful enough to show off his rippling abs and the corded muscles in his back as he performed stunts that, if he had known they came as stripper standards, would have made him blush. Deadpool watched for a minute, speechless.  In fact, everyone shut up, because this was like some kind of sexual fantasy come true, and any word could break the spell.

It took a moment before he felt a hot freshet of blood on his upper lip.

“The fuck…?” he muttered. He dabbed the back of his hand against the nosebleed in confusion.

            _It’s like in the animes when the dude sees the love interest do something really hot and he pops a boner._

_Is that what happens?_

_It’s like symbolism._

_A nosebleed?_

_Who the fuck watches anime anymore?_

_We fucking do.  But like the good stuff, from the 90’s._

_Jesus, it’s like living with a goddamned otaku._

“Yeah, that definitely looks like hero stuff to me,” Vanessa said.

            _Hot stuff maybe._

_Baby, this evening._

_Yeah!_

“I’m going to fuck him within an inch of his life,” he crooned affectionately, watching as one of Spider-Man’s legs bent up over his head and he spun upside-down, body curving into the pole.  Did he _know_ he was moving in time with the music?

Vanessa was saying something, and it took a moment for Deadpool to remember that she was there. When he realized she had asked a question, he had to shake himself and force his gaze back to her.  “Sorry, what?”

“I said, don’t you think that someone might be upset about that?” she repeated, her eyes cold.

            _What’s she talking about?_

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I’m talking about your boyfriend?  Peter? Sweet kid, with eyes like a Disney princess?”

            _That doesn’t make any sense; Spider-Man’s not owned by Disney®._

_That’s not true, he got traded; he’s going to be in Civil War._

_Shit, that hasn’t happened yet?  What year is this?_

_Is Pete gonna be mad?_

_Wait, why would he be mad if we fuck Spider-Man?_

_They’re the same person, idiot!_

_But he doesn’t know that we know he’s the same person._

_Really?_

_There was a whole intro; we covered this._

_Why is Spider-Man still fighting while we talk to this woman? Why aren’t we fighting?_

_Why aren’t we killing anyone?_

_Because we’re about to come up with a grand explanation of why we get to stick our slick fat cock into his tight white ass._

“Pete’s flexible,” he said, and he meant it.  Watching Spider-Man do the splits, he knew it to be true.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Vanessa said slowly.  “You may want to be careful about flirting with your… co-worker?”

All of the henchmen were down and Spider-Man was perched on the stripper pole, upside-down, legs twisted around it and arms dangling, his flanks heaving as he panted.  His skinny tush was stuck in the air, lit like a beacon in the stage’s convenient spotlight.

“A little inter-office romance never broke a relationship,” he said flippantly, and stepped away to begin applauding.

            _Pretty sure Don Draper wouldn’t agree._

Spider-Man, breathing hard, looked up at him.  If Deadpool could read his little spidey mask, the kid was annoyed.  “Where the fuck were you?”

“Me? Oh, I was running to the ATM to get some dollar bills.  That was a stellar performance!  You could go pro!”

The web-slinger immediately lost his grip on the bar and fell to the floor.  “W-Wha—You… I…”

Deadpool crouched down next to him.  “Was it good for you, honey?  Because that pole sure was working for me.  You wanna finish this up here, or take it to one of the seedy bedrooms upstairs where they forbid the black lights?”

“I-I’m not having sex with you, Wade,” Spider-Man stammered.  “N-Never in a million years!”  The kid didn’t really sound sure of himself.

            _That’s because he knows that he’s already had sex with you!_

_Does he know that’s confusing to us?_

_I think it’s confusing to him too._

_pretty fell down_

_And it was hilarious.  Do not laugh._

_But how do we get sex?  We are turned on.  We wants the precious._

_It was only that one time; he probably never wants that shit again._

_My cock is not shit.  It is glorious._

_How would he know?  You didn’t let him turn on the light._

_Yeah but he tasted every inch._

_No he didn’t!  Your whole cock would never fit in his mouth!_

_Ah, the joys of being 6’2” and Canadian._

“But back to the topic at hand,” Deadpool cut in.  “Sex. You.  Me.  Now?”

He was answered with a shove to the chest that sent him crashing into a wall.

“What the fuck, you moron!  Who’s gonna pay for that?!” Vanessa shouted.

 “Oh!  S-Sorry Vvmm-ma’am,” Spider-Man said, actually managing to sound contrite.

“Just get your asses out of here.  And do me a favour?  Send this asshole home!  _To his boyfriend_ ,” she snarled, wrenching Deadpool to his feet and shoving him back to the man spider.

“Y-yes ma’am,” the wall-crawler replied.

“It’s not fair. You were supposed to offer to dance to pay for the repairs,” Wade complained, slightly dazed but swiftly regaining control of his not-quite-concussion.  “There was gonna be a whole thing and you would be all sexy and then I would do a little number to Nicki Minaj.  I have the whole pony outfit to go with it.”

Spider-Man did not seem interested in his protests and dragged him out of the club, leaving Vanessa with a mess to clean up and cops to deal with.

            _I guess the stripper scene was written out._

_Why would they do that?  It was gonna be so hot!_

_Well at least we all saw Spidey on that pole, ammirite?_

_Spank bank._

_For sure._

_Has anyone else noticed that Spidey’s unusually silent?_

_Oh… Do you think something’s wrong?_

_Maybe Vanessa scared him; she can be intense when she’s mad._

_Why was she mad?_

_Because she thought we were cheating on Pete._

_By fucking Spider-Man?_

_Spider-Man doesn’t know that you know he’s Pete._

_What difference would that make?  HE knows he’s Pete.  He knows I’m not cheating on him if I fuck Spider-Man._

_Maybe… it’s the idea that you WOULD cheat on him?_

_That’s ridiculous._

_If you ask me, this whole charade is ridiculous, and Spider-Man’s a weepy little bitch that needs to be put in his place._

_No one asked you._

_No one has to.  Seriously, if Spider-Man is angry because he thinks we would cheat on Pete, with Spider-Man, but Spider-Man IS Pete, and then Pete thinks we would cheat on him with Spider-Man, then what the fuck is the fucking problem?  This is stupid.  The whole thing is stupid._

_Yeah, it’s like we’re being set up to be caught in the act._

_Like a sting.  Like with Robert Redford._

_What the fuck would the defunct head of Hydra have to do with this?_

_It’s a movie…_

_I’m just saying, I’ve had about enough of this bullshit._

_We all have._

_Yeah._

_… Are you telling me that we WOULDN’T be cheating on Pete if we had sex with Spider-Man?_

_Jesus H. Titty-fucking Christ._

_I’m not explaining it again.  You explain it._

By the time Spider-Man dumped Deadpool off at their rendezvous point, Wade was halfway to an agreement with the mob.  The webslinger stood for a moment staring at him, arms crossed, toe tapping.

 “Well, that was fun, Spideykins.  Y’ sure I couldn’t interest you in an encore?” he quipped.

 “No,” Spider-Man said, his voice flat and emotionless.  “Go home, Wade.”

“What?  You didn’t have a good time?  I had a great time!” he said with a grin.

“Y’know, maybe it’s a good idea for us to work solo for a while.”

            _Aaaaand there it is._

“What, are you breaking up with me?” Wade snapped.

“For the last time, Wade.  _You_ and _I_ are not dating!”  With a flick of his wrists, Spider-Man launched himself off the rooftop and swung away.

            _This is so confusing._

_Did he break up with us?_

_I am really not sure.  But this shit has to stop._

_… Well what do we do now?_

_…_

_Call Pete, I guess._


	3. In Which There Is Reflection and Deep Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter takes some time to reflect.

As Pete swung his way back to his flat, he tried to focus on the cool air and the hum of the streets below, instead of the sick little ball of hurt that had lodged somewhere between his heart and his stomach.  It’s not like he had been dating Wade for all that long.  And it wasn’t like it was really cheating...  Hell, they hadn’t even laid out any kind of rules for this. They hadn’t even defined it. There were no terms set.  It just… it hurt to think that he wasn’t the centre of Wade’s world.  The way he kept looking at him when they were alone together, it was nice to see that look in Wade’s brown eyes telling Peter that he was not alone, that he was special, that he was loved.  The thought of that look being shared with someone else… except that someone else was still _him_ , so how mad could he be?

Honestly, he had just never expected things to go this well.  He could never have known that the crazy man who had courted him for almost four years would turn out to be his perfect companion.  He was funny, he was sweet.  He made Peter feel like a perfect blend of purity and filth when they lay together, rutting on the couch, on the counter, on the bed, making out like teenagers. He made Peter _want_ things.  Things he had not known he wanted, things he hadn’t been brave enough to ask for with anyone else.

They had only slept together once, and it had been very tame in the sense that the light had been out and it had all culminated with hands and mouths.  Part of it had been tame because they were both nervous. Part of it was tame because Peter knew he was stronger than Wade, and didn’t want to give that away.  And part of it had been how surprisingly shy Wade actually was.  He knew what Wade looked like without his costume; he had seen enough flashes of flesh to put the pieces together in his mind.  It didn’t bother him, really.  But Wade was sensitive about it.  Sometimes he made out with Pete for hours, with his head bare, only to come back the next day with his mask on, and every inch of flesh covered again.  … If he let himself dwell on it, it actually bothered him that the mercenary didn’t trust him, after all this time.

 _That’s bullshit, and you know it.  His issues with the way he looks has nothing to do with you.  Way to make this shit all about yourself, Parker,_ he chastised himself.  _And if it’s about trust, how about the time you told him about your super-secret identity?  Oh wait, you haven’t.  Still. Even though you hang out with him every night, basically, fighting crime and dodging bullets in tights and a mask._

Yeah, but if this was about trust… How could Peter trust Wade, when Wade was actually hitting on half the population of New York and killing the other half? 

 _You know better than that, Parker.  You’ve known about the killing and the flirting this whole time, and you chose to overlook it,_ he told himself.  _And you KNOW that Wade is all talk. Like 95% swagger and 5% serious. Half the shit he says, to anyone, he says because he thinks no one is listening or taking him seriously.  No one really assigns him any value._

That was true.  The people in Stark Tower, for example. Some of them hated Wade because they thought he was playing stupid, and actually knew better, that he was acting this way just to annoy them.  Others hated him because they thought he really _was_ just a head case, and that he was as dangerous and as trustworthy as a raccoon with rabies.  Overall, he was an inconvenient evil that they had to deal with when they needed a conveniently volatile weapon. 

Pete hadn’t exactly made up his mind about Wade, but he did know a few things for sure.  One, Wade was highly intelligent.  He tracked everything around him, sometimes in frightening detail.  He was not well educated (he’d told Peter once that he had never finished high school), but he was a sharp wit and a cunning fighter.  Two, Wade had some serious problems upstairs.  For every detail that he tracked, it seemed like there were different pairs of eyes watching and documenting the minutiae.  Like the attention was intensely focused, but fractured.  Or maybe it was Wade that was fractured. Either way, there were times that Pete was a little frightened of the scattered, manic ramblings he caught sometimes when Wade forgot he was in the other room.  Three, the key to consistency with Wade was to engage with him, on a human level.  A lot of people, and not just the ones in Stark Tower, treated him a bit like an animal, talking down to him, dismissing him, cursing at him as though he couldn’t hear them.  From his observations, Peter had found that the more hostile someone was, the more manic and malicious Wade became.  It was… Occasionally it was terrifying.  The more you tried to intimidate him or hurt him, the more he laughed in your face. But, Pete had found, if you talked to him like a human being, Wade paid more attention to the things you said to him. He remembered you.  Possibly, it made you become real to him.  He still wasn’t sure how strong Wade’s perception of reality was.

All these observations were important, and he tried to use it as a guide for his interaction with the mercenary, but sometimes it was hard to remember.  Dealing with someone who was crazy (didn’t matter whether he was also sweet, giving, attentive and sexy, Wade was crazy) was a constant exercise in patience.  And although Peter was as patient as the day was long, sometimes his feelings got in the way.  Like now. That little ball of hurt in his ribs. 

He flipped up onto the top of a water tower, looking down at the lights of the city, tucking his feet in and resting his chin against his knees.  He pressed his lips against the fabric of his costume and sighed slowly.

 _What is my problem with this, really?  Is it morality?  Is that what’s really bothering me?  I mean, I’m essentially dating a murderer.  And that is_ so  _wrong on_ so  _many levels._   Peter pondered this for a while, twisting his hands across the rooftop and curling his toes around the lip of the eave.  _No, that’s not it, and you know it.  You’re hurt that your… boyfriend… is flirting with… well, you.  And it bothers you, because it’s not technically cheating, but it makes you mad, because he doesn’t know that you’re Spider-Man.  So, he could be doing this, and you wouldn’t know about it.  If you weren’t a masked vigilante, I guess._

Some minutes passed, and in the distance he could see the sky beginning to lighten, changing from a dim black and purple sky, to a sickly lavender.  Oy!  Work would start in less than five hours.  This whole hero thing was really hell on his circadian rhythm. 

 _Okay Parker, focus.  What is the real problem?  … Is it that I haven’t told him I’m Spider-Man?  … Why haven’t I told him?  … It’s about trust, isn’t it?  … And trust… That IS tied with his being a murderer, isn’t it?  He’s… a sociopath, I think.  Yeah, definitely sociopath.  And that worries you.  …No. It scares you.  He doesn’t feel wrong about killing.  Even now, he hasn’t stopped killing people because of right and wrong, but because he_ wants  _something, like my approval.  If he does not kill people, then he gets what he wants.  That is insane.  But, does that mean I don’t trust Wade?  … No? … His inability to feel something I wish he felt does not make him untrustworthy.  He can totally be trusted.  It’s just that he can be trusted not to have a moral compass of his own.  And part of that has to do with the problem of reality. If this isn’t real, then why should he feel connected to it?  Why would it be wrong to kill something that doesn’t actually exist?  Because that’s what it is for him.  I don’t think most people exist for him.  … And that’s why he does what_ I  _want, when I tell him not to kill.  I_ am  _something real to him.  … Oh god, what am I gonna do?_

Trying to understand Wade was a risky mental exercise.  If he skated that edge of philosophy for too long, Peter was worried he could actually fall over the edge himself.  Nervously, Peter stood up, making the motion of running his hands through his hair, realizing that he had unconsciously removed his mask.  There were too many questions, and the sun was not waiting on anyone.  Hastily, he shoved the mask back over his face.  He was still frustrated, and he wanted to be angry with Wade.  But maybe he was angry with himself, for putting Wade in this position.  It felt dishonest, like Wade was falling into a trap that Peter had set.

 _That’s it.  Make this an easy solution.  Just fucking_ tell  _him the truth_ , Peter admonished himself.

He extended a hand, shooting a web to the next building, and began to swing his way home.

The sky was turning a lightening grey in the morning twilight when he finally crawled into his living room window.  He flipped down with a sigh and started walking towards his bedroom, thinking about the possible two hours of sleep he was going to give himself before heading to work, until he realized that his Spidey-senses were tingling.  He froze, and they started to go haywire.  Spinning around he found himself facing Deadpool, lurking casually in the far corner of the room, his crossed arms a mimic of Peter’s from earlier in the evening.

Peter felt his nerves singing, and his heart began racing.  Why was his body reacting like this?  His Spidey-senses almost never reacted to Wade unless he was… thinking… dangerous thoughts… Peter’s eyes widened and he felt his shoulders stiffen.

“Well hello there,” Deadpool murmured, and Peter felt a chill run through him from his throat to his hands to his toes and back.  That was not Wade’s voice, not the safe one, the happy one he reserved for people he liked. It was the one he used when he had lost his sense of humor.  Peter had never thought about it before, but he really had never wanted to see what Wade was like when he had lost his sense of humor.  “Lucy, you got some splaining to do.”


	4. In Which There Is Emotional Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool has a talk with Spider-Man, and maybe a minor breakdown.

_Caught in the act!_

_Did we just pull a B & E on our boyfriend’s apartment?_

_I don’t know if he’s going to like this._

_Where’s Peter?_

_He’s standing right—He’s fucking right in front of us! Spider-Man is… you know what?  I’m done._

_Yeah we’re fucking done.  Done with this bullshit.  Anything he has to say now is gonna be the rope he hangs himself with._

_Jesus!  Calm down, Ike._

_I’ll be calm when he stops pussy-footing around with this shit._

_Heheh, you said pussy._

_Grow up._

Spider-Man stood frozen in the doorway of Peter’s bedroom, and if Deadpool could read his mask right, he was alarmed.  Which was understandable.  Wade wasn’t really in the mood for any more games; it was playing merry hell on his nerves and the mob was in a constant state of unrest.

“Where the hell is my boyfriend, Spideykins?” Wade whispered.

            _Jesus, the kid looks scared._

_Mmhmm… Nice.  I wonder if his cheeks are flushed red under that mask._

_i don’t want the pretty to be scared._

_Oh shut up, you fucking construct of every overused creepy crying child trope.  No one is impressed by your whimsy._

“Wade!” Spider-Man said.  His voice was low, breathless.  Just a hint of a quaver.  “Hey…”

Deadpool detached himself from the wall and noted that Spider-Man stopped himself from flinching back.  The cringe was almost imperceptible, but it was a prey movement, and that just made that dark, predatory feeling in his bones increase.

“Well hey, yourself, stranger.  Would you care to explain what you are doing in my boyfriend’s apartment?” he said, keeping his menace casual.

            _Nice.  Keep him unsettled._

_Why?  What’s the point?_

_Because he_ deserves _it._

Something must have flashed through the white eyes of the Deadpool suit, because Spider-Man actually backed up a step into the wall.  His body was taut, slender muscles quivering like a thoroughbred before a race.

            _You really need to cool it on the animal analogies.  Next you’re going to say something about your inner wolf and compare him to a little rabbit or something._

_Yeah, but people like metaphors._

_It’s a_ simile _, numbnuts!_

_Oh well lah-dee-dah, look who paid attention in ninth grade English!_

_We did?_

_Someone did._

_We weren’t here for ninth grade, though._

_Weren’t we?_

_I wasn’t._

_Can we argue about grammar with ourselves later?  Like, off-camera?  Or… -page as the case seems to be?  Because this is only interesting to, like, three people._

_Yeah, well maybe people will pay attention.  I mean we used ‘taut’ instead of ‘taught.’  That has to lend us some kind of credibility on our mastery of the language._

_You’re an idiot and you know it!_

“Shut up!” Deadpool shouted, and Spider-Man jumped.  Frustrated, Wade began pacing along the far side of the room, needing space between him and his moonlighting lover.  “Jesus, sometimes I almost believe it, y’know?”

Unconsciously, his right hand clenched around his Bowie knife, and he began twirling it around in his hand to give himself something to focus on.  The heft and balance were good.  It was something solid he could hold.  Most things weren’t this trustworthy.

“B-Believe what, Wade?” Spider-Man’s voice broke into the silence.

“The lies, maybe. Or that I _am_ an idiot.  Or that maybe I really _am_ crazy,” he growled.

            _You_ are  _crazy._

_Yeah, no one would ever suggest the opposite._

_Yeah, definitely loony tunes._

“I don’t think you’re entirely crazy,” Spider-Man said softly.

Wade whipped around, unconsciously releasing the knife, watching as it buried into the wall next to the masked vigilante’s head.  “Lies!” he and the mob shouted.

“I said ‘entirely,’ Wade,” Spider-Man said, and it was a testament to the kid’s nerves that his voice had not broken.  He had barely winced away from the weapon flying at his face.  “I think maybe right now, you might be a little crazier than usual.” Every word sounded painfully calm.

            _Crazier than usual._

_Yeah, that could be right._

_This is like a manic episode?_

_What episode?_

_I haven’t heard of that show._

_Why isn’t he shouting?  Shouldn’t he be shouting?_

_Why isn’t he crying?  We wanted to make him cry._

“Crazier than usual,” he repeated.  He couldn’t stop his pacing and he felt anger boiling through his limbs. It felt like his heart was racing, and the world was made up entirely of hard edges and flimsy glue.  Any moment, the corners would shatter and he would run into the jagged pieces left sticking out and it would be like being stabbed by a thousand knives.  Cold slivers of a harsh reality that didn’t always have the decency to exist, buried in his lungs, in his liver, in his spleen.  It hurt when that happened.  It wouldn’t be the first time, either.  It poisoned his blood and his brain, and he couldn’t keep the black sick in his veins. He didn’t like his rage when he was here, in Peter’s apartment.  It didn’t feel right.  Nothing felt right.

            _i don’t want to hurt anyone_

He wanted Peter.  He was never angry when Peter was around. He wanted Peter back.

“I’m here,” Peter whispered softly.  “You’re not hurting anyone.  See?” He held out his arms, showing Wade his hands, bare skin.  His hair was matted and sweaty, tweaked at odd angles.  And his eyes were wide and round.  Like an owl’s.

            _You just_ had  _to say it didn’t you?_

Wade stared at him, eyes hard, and what was left of his eyebrows drawn together in agitation.

            _Where did Spider-Man go?_

_It’s Pete._

_Hey it’s Pete!_

_Wait… So Pete and Spider-Man… … Ooooohhhh…_

_… I’m not saying anything._

“See?” Peter repeated, but he made no move towards Wade.  “It’s me.  I meant to tell you.  I was going to tell you tonight, actually.”

“You broke up with us,” Wade husked, his own voice choking him.  God, why was this so hard?

The boy looked alarmed. “What?!  No!”

“You did.”

“No!  I swear I didn’t!” Peter gasped.

“You said we should work solo.  You said you and I weren’t dating,” Wade repeated, looking into the hazel eyes that were so pale in the growing light that they were nearly colorless.

Peter froze, the very picture of shock.

            _This is not better than punching him._

 _Shut up, asshole, we are_ resolving issues.

_Yeah, you’re the worst._

_and you’re mean._

“Y-you knew?” Peter said.

            _Knew what?_

“Knew what?” Wade asked.

“That I was… that I’m…” The kid gestured at his body, and Wade finally registered that he was still clad in the skin-tight red and blue leotard.  Like a bruised and bloody unicorn.

            _Nice call back.  Stop it with the animals._

Wade paused, realized that his pacing had slowed, as had his heart rate.  “Yeah, well… sorta.  Yes.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Pete asked, keeping his tone under control, but Wade could see confusion and raw emotion that mirrored his own.

“I wanted to get into your pants.  Nine out of ten love interests find ‘light stalking’ a turn-off,” Wade snapped.

“How long have you known?”  It was clear that the brunet was baffled.

Wade shrugged. “Since before the second time I asked you out, maybe?”  He had stopped moving, his body slowly relaxing as his truths resolved each other.

“Since… four years? Four years ago?”  The kid was looking a little green.

“Yeah, I guess.  I think I asked you out around 209 times. I’ve known for about 208 of those times.”

Pete began nodding, that slow exaggerated nod that people did when they were taking on information that they were not quite capable of dealing with.  “Oh.  So, not _that_ long,” he quipped.

“Yeah, really, it’s like, covered in five minutes in the intro,” Deadpool said.

 “That boring is it?” Peter said, grinning.

            _Should we tell him the number of times we’ve seen his origin story?_

 _Now is a_ terrible  _time to bring that up._

_Shut up guys, we may get sex out of this if we’re patient._

_Read the room.  This is not sexy times._

_Ugh._

“Nah, just… it’s kind of just taken as a given,” Wade said, no longer able to keep his eyes on Pete. “Just… my Pete is my Spider-Man is my Pete, and sometimes you’re just Spider-Man, and sometimes… you’re just my Pete.  It’s… confusing.”

Peter looked stricken, and his eyes got really shiny.

            _Oh fuck, is he gonna cry?!_

_I thought you wanted him to cry!_

_Not when I’m feeling the feels!_

“I swear to god, if you’re even _considering_ feeling pity or something for my mush brain, I am leaving right now, and there will be no sex ‘til Christmas,” Wade snapped, his voice rough, but his tone light.

Peter gawped and then burst out laughing.

“Is that what you want?” Wade carried on, encouraged by his lover’s delight.  It was like the sun coming out when he laughed.  And not just because the sun had crested the cityscape behind him.  Which, by the way, was a really nice visual touch.  “You wanna live in a no-sex bed?  Christmas is a _long_ way away.  You’re gonna be soooo lonely…”

Peter shook his head. “No,” he said.  “I really don’t want that.”

“Well good!  Then buck it up, buttercup.  We can’t get all sappy after all that angst.”

His lover sniffed loudly, and Wade frowned.

            _Is he still sad?  I thought we joked the sad away…_

“Wade… can I…” Pete started, his voice trembling.  The kid swallowed and steadied himself.  “Can I… could I see your face?  I would really like to see your face.  Please?”

            _He wants to see your face?_

 _Maybe I was wrong when I said_ you  _were the crazy one._

_Why would he want to see your face?_

_I don’t want to see my face, why would he?_

_That’s what I just said._

_We’re taking too long.  There will be tears._

_Oh shit!  Act now!_

_Yeah, but usually the tears come_ after  _I take off the mask._

_Shut it and do it!_

Losing the fight, Wade reached up, and unfastened his mask.  He hesitated only a moment, and then peeled it away from his face.

Peter looked up at him, sniffing again, then smiling.  “Hey you,” he said, visibly relaxing.

Wade frowned self-consciously.  “Hey,” he mumbled.

“Come sit on the bed with me?” Peter offered, and goddamn if his eyes weren’t like opals when he looked hopeful.

            _So we’re moving to rock gems, now?_

“Sure.”


	5. In Which There Is Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Wade offer each other what comfort they have to give.

Peter moved slowly towards the bed, and sat on the edge, looking up at Wade.  The merc looked miserable, brown eyes glossy, flicking everywhere but at him.  But he made good on his word, moving forward reluctantly, then slumping down on the foot of the bed.  His shoulders were hunched, muscles clearly still tense but no longer twitching or spasming erratically, and he was angled _towards_ Peter, which was a good sign.

Cautiously, Pete cleared his throat, saying, “Do you mind… can you give me a minute?”

Wade’s face swung up in his direction, and the look clearly conveyed that he was expecting to be told to leave.

“I think I should call in sick today,” Peter clarified.  “Just gimme a sec.”

Nervously, he grabbed his cell phone and called Stark Industries.  The conversation was brief; Jarvis was the answering service, and he never required a long explanation.  The AI simply updated the schedule, and Mr. Stark was unlikely to note his absence until sometime next week.  With a sigh, Peter shut off his phone, and sat with it in his hand. Processing.  It took a second for him to realize he was trembling.  Like all over.  Every muscle fibre was shuddering.

 _Post-stress.  Post-stress. That’s all this is.  Just have to calm down._   The image of Deadpool’s knife flying at his face flashed in his mind, and suddenly he couldn’t hold back his sob.

He registered that Wade sat bolt upright as soon as the tears began.  “D-do you want me to go—“

Peter answered by grabbing his hand.  “No, please,” he choked out, “please don’t go.”  It felt like his ribs were going to collapse in on themselves, and his hands shook.

Wade was silent a moment, staring at Pete’s fingers in his own.  “I’m sorry,” he said, barely loud enough to be heard.

Peter shook his head. His mind was catching up with the evening’s events, combing over every detail.  Lecherous Deadpool hitting on Spider-Man was superimposed with Wade, turned on and teasing his lover.  Carefree Deadpool laughing about having a good time with Spider-Man was exchanged with Wade, finishing a date with his Pete.  Huffy Deadpool getting offended at Spider-Man’s brushoff was shadowed by Wade, being told that his boyfriend did not want him anymore.  _Oh god…_

“Can you still hold me?” Peter asked distantly.

Without a word, Wade’s arms moved around to encircle his shoulders, and Peter collapsed against him. He felt the levy break and he wept freely.

It was understandable. His senses were still jangled and buzzing, having sent him clear signals as loud as a scream that an attack was imminent for the first few minutes since his arrival in the apartment.  ‘ _Jesus , sometimes I almost believe it, y’know?’_   The second those words had passed Wade’s lips with that imperceptible break, Peter’s Spidey-senses shifted, nearly 180 degrees.  Instead of attack, he felt that tingle he felt when he sensed someone…who was in danger and crying out for someone to help them.  It was _that_ feeling.  Which was why… even though he knew it was a gamble, an _insane_ gamble, he had made no move to avoid the knife.  The knife which sat buried in his wall, a hair’s breadth away from where his head had been.

As his mind regurgitated that image again, he flinched and tucked his face against Wade’s neck.

 _And you were worried about trusting him.  You let him throw a knife at your_ head. _Because you trusted that he truly did not want to hurt you.  Parker, that_ is _probably going to go up to the Board of Insanity for review.  …Then again, you do put on tights and a luchador mask, and jump off buildings for fun, so… I guess I have to keep things in perspective._

It took a while, but eventually his breathing slowed, and his body stopped shaking.  He realized that he was rocking back and forth gently, Wade’s voice crooning deep in his chest.  It wasn’t a song.  There were no notes.  But it was soothing.  With a hiccup, Pete sniffed and wiped his face with the back of one hand.  He pulled away, but only enough so he could see his lover, if only he raised his head.  His opposite arm circled around Wade’s shoulders, as if ready to grab him to his chest again if he tried to escape.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cheeks flushing.

There was a pause, and Wade’s chest rumbled with his voice.  “For what now?”

With a sigh, Pete flopped so that his head was resting over the other’s heart.  “For telling you that we weren’t dating,” he said, dejected. “For letting you think that I had broken up with you.”

Another pause, and then he could hear the smile in Wade’s voice.  “That’s fine.  You thought you were Spider-Man,” he quipped.

Pete pulled up and looked at him, pulling an annoyed face.  “I _am_ Spider-Man,” he huffed sourly.

“Oh _now_ you tell me!” Wade said, brown eyes soft and warm, as though the wretched storm had not just blown past.

Pete couldn’t help it, he laughed, and his man gave him an uncharacteristically genuine grin.

“You know you could have saved me and my fucked up brain a lot of trouble if you had just told me that,” he said, deadpan.

“Whatever.  You were stalking me,” Peter said.

“Yeah, but only a little. It’s not _my_ fault you had a secret identity and ineffective window covering.  Which, by the way, you might want to address,” Wade said.

“Yeah, maybe.  I guess.  Sure.  I guess I just never thought anyone would be pulling a peeping tom on the 6th floor,” he sighed.

“Are you kidding? Every office worker and hotel patron with a pair of binoculars is scoping out your building.  God knows what they think they’re seeing right now!”

Pete’s head flopped back down to Wade’s chest and he hid his face again.  “Some really weird kinky role play.  If they’re even up at this hour.  Which I doubt.  This is, like, an hour meant only for dock workers and witches.”

There was a pleasant rumble again as the tall man hummed his assent.

They sat there for a while, Peter wrapped in Wade’s arms, one of the mercenary’s hands gently stroking the back of his neck.  It was good. They hadn’t resolved all of the night’s troubles, but it was nice that they could still ride the same frequency. Right now, they both just needed peace and comfort, and each was more than willing to supply it.

With that thought, Pete opened the eyes he had not realized he had closed.  He lifted his head and nuzzled up at Wade’s throat, pressing a soft kiss under his jaw.  Wade didn’t jump so much as pull a cartoonish double-take, fixing him with a baffled stare. Eyes heavy with sleep, and heart wrung out the marathon it had run, Peter smiled up at him, shyly.  The taller man cocked his head to one side, and Pete opted to cut off his pending question with a kiss.

He was exhausted, sure. He looked a mess, and he needed a shower, sure.  But more than anything, he needed reassurance.  He needed contact.

Wade’s lips were soft and full, and after a moment of processing, they opened to Peter, allowing his tongue entry.  It was a slow kiss, much slower than they usually went.  Usually it was hot and heavy, almost like open combat, trying to gain the upper hand, each trying to leave the other breathless.  He who had to jack off first, lost the battle. This, though?  This was a kiss that _said_ things.  It said _I’m sorry._   It said _I forgive you._ It said _Are we going to be okay?_   And it said _I don’t know… but I think so_. 

Their lips threatened to part, and Pete felt himself breathe softly, and then pushed forward again, taking Wade’s face in his hands.  With deliberation, he sank backwards into the bed, pulling Wade onto him. With lazy motions, he parted his legs, capturing the man’s narrow hips between his thighs.  He could sense that Wade was being careful, following his lead. He often did that.  For all that Wade liked to talk about the big game, he seemed to only play by Peter’s rules.

Unwilling to release his lover’s face, Pete settled for kissing for several minutes, tasting the salt of his own tears and the perfect spice of Wade’s sweat.  He dragged his tongue across the merc’s beloved mouth, biting gently into his lower lip.  He heard the other grunt, and felt the growing hardness pressing against him. As tired as he was, he felt his body responding with a deep ache.

“Wade,” he breathed against his lover’s open lips.

“Yes,” Wade said, his voice sounding as though he only half believed this was real.

“I want you to fuck me,” he said, highlighting this comment with a feathered kiss along the edges of his lips.

There was a beat, and Wade seemed to nod.  “Yes, that. I can do that.”

“Doesn’t mean we aren’t going to talk later,” he said, quick and light, making sure to soften that one with a deep kiss.

Wade’s body reacted, and he was pressing up against Peter’s smaller frame with unconscious need. “’Kay,” he said.

“But right now, I need you to fuck me.  Slow. Okay?”

Wade nodded.

“I need to feel you,” Pete sighed.

Wade started to sit up, and Peter almost did not let him go.  The merc eyed him wryly.  “Step one to gentle butt sex:  Remove all clothing prior to handling,” he said.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh, and he let him go.  As Wade went to battle with his zippers, Pete grabbed the hem of his own shirt and pulled it over his head.  Then he hooked his thumbs into the bottoms and began to shimmy.  After a second, he noticed that Wade had stopped moving, and he looked up.

Wade was crouched above him, bare chested, skin a pocked and cratered moonscape of pain, but his head was cocked to one side and he was considering Pete with half-lidded eyes. In that moment, he wasn’t sure if Wade realized that it was the first time he had been entirely naked from the waist up, but the intent in the man’s gaze made him think that perhaps he wasn’t really focused on that detail at the moment.  His eyes were trained on Peter.

“What?” Peter asked.

He was answered with a broad grin.  “Nothin’,” he said.  “You’re just adorable.”

Peter realized his pants weren’t even half down, and he blushed.  “What, they’re really tight!” he griped, and began shimmying again, before he realized how ridiculous he was.  He coughed.  “A little help?”

“Sure thing, princess,” Wade said.

All the times Wade talked about the dirty things he was going to do to Peter (or Spider-Man) when he got him alone, did not translate to how carefully he now removed Pete’s costume. He always talked about ripping and pulling and slamming things.  He had never said that he could be so gentle as to make you feel vulnerable.

“Lube?” he asked.

Peter pointed to the bedside table.  The merc reached over with a languid movement, smooth muscle pulling and stretching in all the right places, and Pete could feel his cock pump at the sight of him.  _Jesus, I sometimes forget he’s actually ripped._

“You blushing already?” Wade murmured, sitting up, and spreading lubricant over his fingers.

Pete shook his head, and Wade kept his eyes captured as he reached between his legs, brushing up against his anus.  His whole body shuddered again, but he did not look away from those brown eyes.

“It’s been a long time, huh?” Wade asked.

“Yeah, a bit,” he answered, feeling the burn as a finger pushed inside him, and then sweet warmth as his body accepted.  He crooned softly, and blinked.

“Could have fooled me,” Wade said, but there was no hint of accusation in his voice.  His eyes were fixed on Peter’s ass, watching as his ring puckered and pushed around his knuckles.  “Your ass has, like, zero protests to this kind of treatment.”

“Well, it likes you,” Pete whispered.  “More.”

“Shh, easy, pretty thing. I’m getting there.  You said you wanted it slow,” Wade said, but he was still kind enough to slip another finger inside him.

“I do.  I do.  I think I do,” Peter muttered, his breath quickening.  His cock was bobbing up against his stomach, throbbing in time with his pulse.

“You think?” Wade asked. “Slow?”

A third finger, and Pete felt that low invasive burn.  He tightened up without thinking, and gasped.  “Yeah!” he panted.  “Yeah, let’s go slow.  Please.”

Those fingers were rubbing around his ring, and he felt his body shiver and liquefy.

“Suit yourself,” his lover said with another smile.

It was like slow torture, wanting more and not able to relax into the three fingers yet.  He was a panting, sweaty mess, slowly coming undone under a killer’s gentle hands.  His heart skipped a beat at that thought and he opened eyes that had slipped closed, and gasped.

“Please!  Wade!”

Wade’s rough face snapped up, eyes focused, intense.  “Yes!”

“Please, I need you in me,” he whimpered.  “I need you closer.”

Wade leaned in, ducking his head down until his face was flush with Pete’s cock.  “Anything, beautiful.”  He planted a kiss on Peter’s hip, and straightened, carefully carefully pulling his fingers away.

Peter whined.

“A minute, precious,” Wade rumbled.  He hesitated a second, and then unfastened the lower half of his outfit, pulling his body free.

“Now,” he said, not wanting Wade to focus on anything other than fucking him.

“Geeze you’re greedy,” Wade replied.  He poured a considerable amount of lube into his palm and then took himself in hand to spread it.  “Think you’re ready for this?  I mean I am 6’2”.  And Canadian.”

“Shut up and--!  Oh fuck!”

Wade pushed the smooth head of his cock against his anus and began to push.  It felt a lot bigger than he remembered it being.  In the dark.  That one time.  Peter focused on breathing, shuddering as the corona slipped past the ring and his body closed on it like a trap.  His senses were wild again, but this time instead of distress, it was pure excitement. He may have moaned, but his mind was on allowing the welcome intrusion.

It took a lot longer than Peter would have expected or liked, but Wade didn’t offer any complaint, only grunting every now and then.  Breathing.  Until at last, Peter was filled, their hips locked, and both covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Are you ready?” Wade panted.

Peter held out his arms. “Here.  I want you here with me,” he whispered.

Wade sank down, allowing his weight to rest on the younger man.  Wade turned his head and kissed him deeply.  At that, it fell like sparks were flying through his bloodstream, and Peter moaned.  Hungrily, he began to move his hips up, fucking himself against Wade, and he wrapped his arms around Wade’s shoulders.

Wade hushed him, and then began to slowly grind into him, keeping the movements small, intimate. As they moved together almost drowsily, Peter could feel himself opening around Wade’s cock, savoring the prolonged friction.  It was delicious.  The burn, the weight, feeling as though he was full and completed.  He moaned again, and Wade answered him with a chaste kiss.

As they moved, Peter couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and began to creel with need.  “Harder,” he whimpered.  “Please harder.”

He was answered with a deep thrust and he groaned.  “Like that, little pet?”

“Yeah,” he managed to say.  When the thrust came again he couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling back.

Wade pressed his face into Pete’s neck and began to move with purpose then, fucking him with deep, hard thrusts, but still keeping the infuriatingly slow pace, as though he would draw this out for ten years if he could.  There was power and control, and Pete’s fingers dug and scrabbled at the solid wall of well-articulated muscle.  He had never felt so taken, so overwhelmed.

“Baby?” he panted.

“Yes,” Wade grunted, teeth grazing against the soft skin of Pete’s throat.

“Fuck me like you mean it,” he begged.  “Please.”

“You sure, sweet?” This was punctuated by a deep thrust that hit that spot, and Pete saw stars.

Pete’s exclamation was all the encouragement he needed, and Wade let loose.  The next few moments, Peter would never be able to tell how long it actually was, the only thing he could do was cry out and whimper helplessly as Wade pounded into him.  He threw his arms over his head, hands searching for something, anything to hold on to, and he maybe cried, he maybe sobbed.  The only thought he could manage to form was that he understood now that we are all made of stardust and that the minerals that formed the earth formed the moon and formed him and the universe was inside of them.

He got no real warning, from his body or his own senses.  The pressure built inside him and before he realized it, he was coming, hard and fast like a shotgun.  Spunk slopped between their bellies and Peter shouted.  He thought he might have almost blacked out, except that Wade kept going, and all of his senses were overcome.  And then Wade let out a choked cry, and the friction inside him became less. And they were coming down.

Peter was dizzy, and Wade slowed his moves, until he was moving into him like waves on the seashore, gently lapping up the afterglow.  Their lips met again, as softly as when they began.  When Wade pulled out, Pete’s whole body shuddered and he felt tears in his eyes again.  Wordlessly, Wade gathered him into his arms, and kissed his hair.

Peter wanted to tell Wade that his heart was full.  That his mind was stunned.  That whatever it was that he was feeling was so profound he couldn’t begin to explain it. But he had just been fucked six ways from Sunday, and he had been up for more than 24 hours, and he had fought all night and run a gauntlet of emotion, and sleep was not going to be put off any longer.

He thought he might have managed to say it.  “I love you.” But if he did, his ears were deaf to any reply.


	6. In Which There Is an Internal Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade's mind races.

            _You put your pants back on this instant, young man._

_Fuck you, you’re not my dad._

_No but seriously, Pete’s gonna wake up and see us._

_Ugh!  Imagine waking up and seeing us naked first thing in the morning?_

_Oh god, no.  Fuck me with a fistful of spoons, that is horrible, why would you even suggest it?_

_Well?_

_He didn’t even seem to care.  About… y’know… this._

_Who Pete?_

_Yeah, he didn’t even blink when we took off our suit._

_Uhhh, he had a couple other things on his mind, like sadness, and making it stop._

_Do you think it worked this time?_

_What, you mean like, did we fuck the sadness away?_

_Valid question._

_Sure!  Cuddling didn’t do shit._

_pretty pony liked the cuddles_

_Oh come on!  Who’s idea was it to have the little kid voice?!  It’s overused.  It’s useless!_ And _it is fucking annoying._

_Whatever, whoever’s driving this ship obviously has a skewed idea of what mental instability looks and-or sounds like._

_What?_

_Oh nevermind.  Can’t be helped._

_But seriously, back to pants._

_No pants._

_Yes pants._

_Maybe?_

_Unnecessary._

_What_ kind _of pants?_

_We are not discussing the merits nor are we debating the moral quandary of girding our loins with pants._

_Pants on Tuesday?_

_No!  Shut up! Pants.  We need them._

_Needs them precious._

_Pants?  Fuck we need a parka._

_Or a wet suit?_

_Or one of those weird body socks that those bicycle-riding motherfuckers wear!_

_Yeah, with a balaclava!_

_And that Sookie Stackhouse girl’s gloves._

_What does this have to do with the Piano?_

_I wanna go back to the body sock.  What are the chances that we snag one and become the most badass bicycle courier in town?_

_Like that Jessica Alba girl with the outdated pattern of ‘hip 90s Nadsat speak’ from that show that wished it was Buffy_ so hard _?_

_…_

_… Yes._

_What’s he even talking about?_

_Fuck me if I know._

_Look, just don’t provoke him._

_Slightly more pressing than post-apocalyptic genetically enhanced bicycle couriers… Did Pete say something before he fell asleep?_

_Oh you want to talk about that?_

_I just… for a second…  I thought—_

_Look, we fucked him that hard; the poor thing was delirious._

_Yeah, honestly, it was all garbled._

_More like word salad._

_Like with dementia?_

_Sure.  Yes. That._

_Okay, so we agree?  Not even going to touch that one._

_Vanessa said the same thing, and she dumped our asses._

_Who?_

_pretty lady._

_We had a whole analogy about puzzles.  It was super romantic._

_Yeah, not like now._

_What do you mean?_

_Did you check your handiwork?  Or don’t you remember throwing a knife at Pete’s head?_

_We threw it at Spider-Man’s head, I thought._

_… We_ just covered this.

_I’m only fucking with you, I knew our Pete was Spidey._

_…_

_Count to ten, man._

_You are_ lucky  _we have a sleepy Pete in our arms, asshole, and that the soporific effect of his slumber and minimal drooling is so potent._

_It’s right up there with a basket of puppies._

_So calming.  And cute to boot._

_Cute and sticky.  We should really clean up this mess._

_Who knew the kid had that much spunk in him?_

_Focus Wilson!_

_Yeah yeah, knife._

_The one you threw at his_ head.

_It’s right over there._

_If Vanessa dumped you for your garden-variety crazy, what’s Pete gonna do?_

_He already broke up with us once this evening. He’s not going to break up with us again so soon.  Not after we got to use the super penis._

_Yeah, but you should really take that damn thing out of the wall before his nibs wakes up._

_And while you’re at it, maybe throw on some kind of deep-sea diving suit._

_Yeah, with a breathing apparatus that makes us sound like Vader!_

_…_

_That would be so cool._

_Second that._

_Veto._

_God, just shut up and focus._

_Knife.  Jizz. We need to clean up._

_And then we make pancakes._

_Ooo!_

_Everyone likes pancakes!_

_I bet our Petey likes pancakes._

_Have we not tested this theory._

_Not in this fic._

_I really thought he said something profound before he passed out._

_No Wade.  No one would say that to you._

_Or at least no one would mean it._

_Yeah, I think it’s like a knee jerk reaction.  Like saying ‘thank you’ for a weird birthday gift._

_What kind of birthday gift is weird?_

_That blender they got you to shred your own heart in was a little off point._

_Oh yeah.  Good times. God those guys were sadistic fuckers, huh?_

_Not anything you have experience with._

_Wha--? I’m not sadistic._

_Aren’t you?_

_I know_ I _am._

_I totally thought he was._

_no we don’t want to hurt anyone._

_That is a_ bald-faced lie _, and you_ know _it._

_Yeah.  To even suggest the opposite is an exercise in pure stupidity._

_We_ love  _hurting people._

_And we’re good at it._

_Always were._

_Were we?_

_I was._

_I wasn’t._

_For god’s sake can we get off this train._

_Wanna go back to how you look like something that got fucked by a pack of wolves and left to die?_

_What… does that… even… mean…?_

_Nevermind.  We have a plan.  Step One, clean Pete.  Step Two, remove knife from wall.  Step Three, spackle like your life depends on it, even though it really doesn’t, because a bullet to the brain isn’t really going to offer any kind of terminal satisfaction.  Step Four, pancakes._

_Are we going to shower in there somewhere?_

_Showers are better with two people._

_After morning-after sex._

_Yeah!_

_Showers require nudity.  This is a bad plan._

_We could wince around like we always do and admit our self-consciousness; it makes us seem sensitive.  But I think Petey has a big enough heart he’s not going to say anything about it._

_Are you kidding?  It’s the first thing he’s going to notice._

_Yeah, but Pete’s, like, a saint with one of those weird neon crowns.  He wouldn’t actually_ say  _anything about it._

_He’s classy like that._

_Agreed._

_So, full nudity._

_I think that’s what we’re going with._

_No pants?_

_No pants._

_Yeah, fuck pants!_

Wade was able to complete all the official steps of his plan, except for the ‘no pants’ addendum.  No one should have to wake up to his face in the morning.


	7. In Which There Are Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter tries to be sexy, and then has to lay down some ground rules.

Peter shuffled and stretched languidly, savouring that heavy tingling feeling that came from sleeping too long after staying up too late.  His body felt more relaxed than it had in a long time.  As he shifted his ass, he felt his muscles twitch with rough pleasure.  _Oh yeah, that’s right_.  He fumbled around himself sleepily, but his fingers did not find Wade in the bed with him.  Frowning, he sat up and looked around.

The angle of light streaming into the room told him that he had slept late into the afternoon.  He suppressed a groan and scrubbed his hands across his face.  He looked down at himself, slightly surprised.  He was pretty sure he had passed out before cleaning himself up, but Wade had taken the care to wipe him down.  If he had done that… Peter’s eyes travelled up to the wall, and saw that the weapon had been removed.  And that the inevitable gaping hole had been spackled and sanded.  _Well, that was thoughtful of him._

Much like a news story on television where there was a delay between the announcer asking questions and the reporter on the streets, his body began to prod him and supply valuable information.  He needed to piss forever.  And there were smells in the air.  Smells that promised sugar and carbohydrates and fats that his body was now literally starving for after all the excitement of the previous night’s adventures.  And if he did not get his ass out of bed _right now_ and piss in the porcelain bowl, his body was not above painting the walls yellow while it ran of its own accord to shove food in its face.

Not wanting to lose his damage deposit, Pete fled the bed and B-lined to the bathroom.

As he passed through the hall, he could hear the sizzle of pancakes and he smelled a new addition: bacon.  His stomach nearly did a backflip over itself.  He took care of the bare sundries of a morning ritual, struggled into a T-shirt and a pair of (clean?) boxers, and then padded out to the kitchen.

Wade had his headphones in, and was dancing around the kitchen, dressed head-to-toe in his Deadpool gear from last night, and an apron, which appeared to have a bikini body detailed on it.  A female bikini body.  Honestly, Peter would have been a little trepidatious on entering, if it hadn’t been for the apron.  Last night’s darker moments were still fresh in his mind.  As it was, the fact that Wade was back to cladding himself entirely in a skin-tight suit that, frankly, could use a wash, made him a little sad. And disappointed.  It wasn’t as if he had expected all of Wade’s self-image issues to evaporate after one night of incredible sex, but… _Who am I kidding?  In my perfect world, that is_ exactly  _what should have happened._

At his entrance, Wade whipped around.  He had a hot skillet in one gloved hand, which he had been using to flip the flapjacks freestyle.  Unfortunately, he turned mid-flip and the pancake slapped onto his head with a soft, wet ‘poot.’

“Well good morning, sleepyhead!” he fairly well sang.

“Hey,” Pete said, smiling shyly.  “Is any of that for me?”

Wade struck a fierce pose behind his titsy apron.  “Oh baby, it’s all for you,” he purred.  The image was made more ridiculous by the pancake, which cocked at an angle on his head like a pastry beret.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh.  “Oh honey, I can’t wait to play Beach Blanket Bingo with that itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini, but I think if I don’t start replenishing some of my calories lost from… ahem, last night’s activities, I may collapse like one of those fainting goats after a big surprise.”

He found himself swiftly ushered to the high stools at his bar and furnished with a glass of orange juice and a plate stacked with pancakes literally dripping with butter. “Baby, we are gonna get you back up to fighting weight,” Wade muttered as he turned back to the pan which was currently frying the bacon.  “Got some protein coming for you, too.”

Pete watched his lover’s back, hidden behind the crimson and black leather, wishing he could watch the muscles ripple under skin.  Daring himself, he cleared his throat.  “What kind of protein?”

“Processed animal? With a hint of sugar and a touch of wood smoke.  I may have lightly peppered it as well, to add to the—“

“—Because,” Peter broke in, “I was hoping for something… fresh... organic...”  He let his voice drop a little, and he flicked his eyes suggestively over his lover.  He watched as Wade perked up slightly, head cocking slightly to one side as though trying to process the sentence. “Something rich, but not too sweet? A little more like a protein shake, like the kind you have to suck out with a straw?”

Wade stood with the skillet in one hand and the fry pan with the bacon in the other, with what Peter could only interpret as an incredulous look mixed with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.  Which of course was the moment that the bacon grease dripped onto the gas stove and the fry pan caught on fire.  A few things happened at once:  As a jerk reaction, Wade slammed the skillet over the top of the fry pan.  Pete was up and ducking under the sink for the fire extinguisher.  And the fire alarm went off.

With a yelp, Pete was on his feet and opening the living room window in a flash.  His Spidey-senses flared up wildly, and he glanced back in time to shout, “No!” just before Wade discharged a weapon at the fire alarm.

The noise stopped as the infernal machine shattered across the room.  Peter let out a long, slow sigh, and pursed his lips as he noted that the fire seemed to have been stopped.  The smoke was venting nicely.  This was what came of attempting to flirt on an empty stomach.  He really should have known better.

Still in the kitchen, Deadpool had the look of a dog that had gotten into the snacks and was regretting his life decisions while awaiting judgment from the Food Giver.

Huffing slightly, Pete walked back to his plate of food, carefully avoiding the shattered bits of plastic and electronics.  He took a deep breath, then sat slowly at the bar again, looking at his plate.  He brushed off a piece of drywall and then shoved a whole pancake into his mouth.  Wade watched him, his hand inching deliberately to put the firearm away in its holster.  Peter watched every movement, chewing very slowly.  Once the weapon was secured, he looked up at Wade, making what he thought was eye contact.

“And the bacon?” he said.

There was a long, pain-filled moment before Wade lifted the skillet to take a peek.

“Extra crispy,” came the answer, and it was clear from his voice that Wade was miserable about it.

Peter sighed again. “Well, I guess it’s gonna have to be the protein shake.”

If the suit had allowed it, he was sure Wade’s eyes would have bugged out.  As much as he wanted to relish his master level flirt, there were certain things he needed to address before he could take this moment anywhere in the direction of fun.

“Wade, what if there had been people living above me?” he asked.  He was on the top floor of the building, which was why he was not freaking out at the thought that the bullet may have traced a path through someone’s living room.  Nothing overhead but scared pigeons.

“Then…I could have thrown a hatchet?  Instead?” Wade said slowly.

“No, Wade, you could not have thrown a hatchet.  Seriously, it’s a fire alarm.  It’s _supposed_ to tell you if there’s smoke in the house. Now I have to figure out how to get a new one,” he said.

“I can buy you a new fire alarm!”

“No, Wade, I don’t want you to buy me a new fire alarm.  I want you to use less violence in my home.  I can handle the fire alarm.  I appreciate that you took c-care of the wall, with the…hole… but honestly? If we’re going to be dating like this, I need you to stop discharging and or throwing weapons in my house,” he said, his voice as gentle as it was firm.

There was a pause, and then Wade nodded.  “Right,” he said.

“I…I won’t tell you that I am not upset about this.  I am,” Pete said, choosing his words with care.  “But we never talked about any of this and we didn’t set any boundaries for the relationship.  And I have just realized this is a boundary for me.  I need my home to be a safe place.”  He looked up at his lover, who was staring at him behind the mask, looking worried.  “Can you help me with that?”

It took a second, but then the older man was nodding almost comically.  “Right!  Yes! Absolutely!  That… that is a thing that I can help with!”

“What are you helping me with?” Peter asked, feeling terrible for checking on Wade’s attention span.

 “I am helping to make your home a safe place,” Wade said.  “No more boom boom.”

It took effort, but Peter managed to avoid rolling his eyes.  Instead, he grinned, and looked at his plate.  “Good.  Do you mind if I shove, like, this whole plate in my face?”

“Don’t let me stop you, baby boy.  I know how to administer abdominal thrusts in the event of a choking incident,” Wade said proudly.

The next few minutes passed in amiable, if watchful, silence, as Wade returned to his cooking. He cleaned the stovetop, turned on the oven, and placed a plate of still more flapjacks into the heating maw to stay warm.  Then he placed a glass of water, a second glass of orange juice, and a mug of coffee in front of Peter.  And then he began to clean up after himself.

Peter had been to Wade’s house, or at least one of them (Wade had mentioned to Spider-Man that he had more than one safe house), and it had been a mixture between a fire hazard, a bio hazard, and the bottom of a man’s gym bag (judging from the smell). Which was why, as he watched Deadpool wash and replace dishes and cutlery, he was a little surprised.  This was a domestic side of his (killer) boyfriend that he had not anticipated.  He hadn’t even known that Wade knew how to cook.  And the pancakes were fucking amazing.

He smiled as Wade bent down to return a mixing bowl to its place under the counter.  The merc’s body was lean and hard, beautifully lined with muscle, even under the obscuring outfit.  Taking a chance, he cleared his throat, and saw the man perk up, no doubt expecting to find the webslinger choking to death on breakfast.

“Hey Wade?” he hazarded.

“Yeah, precious?”

“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” he began, noting that his lover froze.  “I was just wondering, why are you wearing your Deadpool costume?”

It may as well have been a trick question, because it was clearly causing some problems for Wade to come up with an answer.  The mercenary twitched a little and then shook his head.  “No!  Uh… no I just… well, I figured after such a good night and that lovely beauty sleep, you wouldn’t want to deal with an unsightly mess for breakfast,” he said quickly. “I mean, it’s like if I showed you a picture of a cute little kitten and then I showed you the final death scene in Revenge of the Splat-Gore Monster.  One of those things is kind of a bummer… depending on your tastes.”

Peter could feel a part of himself grow enraged at the thought that anyone would make Wade feel like he was a walking horror show, but then he remembered that Wade was always the first and often the _only_ one who ever made a comment on his own looks.  He wondered what he must have looked like before the Weapon X program.

“While I appreciate the analogy, I think that you and I have a difference of opinion on this,” he said, downing half his coffee.

“How so?” Wade asked, seeming genuinely confused.

“Well, I would really prefer to spend time with you without the costume,” he said.  “I would like to see your face.  And your eyes.  I like your eyes.”  He said this almost wistfully.

Wade shook his head as though confused.  “I don’t think you really understand what you’re asking for, kiddo.  I mean—“

“—Wade I had you deep-dicking me with the pace and ferocity of a starving polar bear, and I came so hard I lost consciousness.  I saw everything, and I don’t fucking care.  I fucking love you, and I love your face, and I love your body, and I have never known you to be anything other than what and who you are,” Peter snapped.  He sat tall in his chair, holding court.  “I don’t care what you were told or what you may feel about yourself.  You do not get to tell me what my opinion is, and you do not control my feelings.”

If there was anything to be said in response, Wade seemed to be drawing a blank.

“Now, I’m not going to force you to do anything.  But if you are doing this for _me_ , then I wish you would stop.  I would rather see your face when I talk to you,” he finished.  He relaxed back down into his chair, and grabbed his juice. “I think you’re hot.”

Wade stood frozen for a few more moments, and Pete worried that he may have broken his lover’s brain.  There seemed to be an argument that he could not hear going on, because every now and then Wade would twitch or shake his head.  It was a minute movement, but with his heightened senses, Peter was able to read it easily.  Finally there was a sharp intake of breath and the mercenary’s stance shifted. Lifting hesitant hands, he reached up to his mask, and with a breath, took it off.

Wade looked up at him sheepishly, brown eyes set deep into his narrow face.  For all that the scars and discoloured patches marred the skin, it was clear in his bone structure that he had always been a handsome man.  It was the first time that Peter had ever really gotten to observe his lover’s face in full daylight, without a baseball cap and hood pulled low to shadow and obscure his features.  Pete could not help but smile.  He slipped down off his stool and padded closer to the man.

Looking up, he could read confusion and self-consciousness in those eyes.  He reached up on tiptoes and planted a kiss on Wade’s chin.  Wade started, much like a colt, and Pete wrapped his arms around the man’s neck to give him something stable.

“Hey you,” he whispered.

Peter caressed a hand across Wade’s jaw, gently tugging and then finally pulling the man’s chin down to meet his kiss.  He gave a soft kiss, feeling his own lips slightly raw from the night before.  He felt rewarded when the mercenary’s arms finally came forward to hold him close.  Smiling against Wade’s lips, Pete let his tongue dart forward, teasing against the other’s mouth.  The kiss was accepted, and they spent a long moment, tasting maple and sugar in their saliva, sharing each breath.  As the kiss endured, Peter began rubbing up salaciously against the titty apron with purpose.  Wade gasped in his embrace, and Peter could feel his body responding to the attention.

“What do you say, baby?” Peter said, a little out of breath.  “How about getting me my protein?”


	8. In Which There Is More Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade and Peter have post-pancake morning-after sex.

Wade knew he probably should not have been surprised by his own body, becoming immediately hard in an instant, a rush of blood to a single organ so fast it left him breathless. He tried to make a response, and failed when he found that his mouth had gone dry.

            _I can’t believe you took off the mask._

_I can’t believe he just propositioned you._

_Yeah, like in that porn with the gym rats and the twinks! What was that one called?_

_‘Kettleballs?’_

_‘Bench This, Bitch?’_

_No, it was ‘Jocks and Cocks: Well-cum Freshmen!’_

_You think Petey’s seen that one?_

“No!” he snapped irritably, before he realized he spoke aloud again. He saw Pete’s eyes widen by a fraction, and he captured the kid by his waist, pulled him close.  “No, I mean, w-we should… mix it up in the bedroom. If you can promise not to make a mess, I can give you a good shake in bed.”

Pete’s face seemed to show relief.  Wade tried to grin without thinking about the way his cracked skin pulled across his teeth.

            _Way to be sexy, DP._

_Oh fuck off!_

“You’re gonna shake things up, huh?” Peter said, and it was impossible how his sweet tenor could sound that smoky. 

“If you think you can handle another helping of my shake.  Which, by the way, brings all the boys to the yard,” Wade said, leering as he guided his lover down the hall with a gloved hand.

Peter let out a sound which could only be qualified as a giggle, and no force in the world, not the Avengers, not a crack team of Army Rangers, not fucking Aragorn with his buddies at Helm’s Deep could stop Wade from slapping that tiny ass.  Which he did, enjoying the startled squeak he received for his troubles.

            _Note to self…_

_Talk him into spanking right the fuck now!_

_I think it’s a little early for that…_

_Wha—It’s like four in the afternoon!_

_That’s not what he meant and you know it._

The room was still a mess from the night before; Pete’s hands and feet (of all things) gripping and pulling at the sheets had left it looking more like a bird’s nest than a bed. As soon as they entered, Wade found himself shoved into the wall and kissed thoroughly.

            _He’s so cute when he’s demanding._

_I know._

The kid went after his mouth as though he was afraid Wade was going to run off.  And considering all the fuck-ups he had made in the last 24 hours alone, the thought had crossed his mind.  But there was something about the way Pete spoke, when he was being honest and true, like he always was.  Wade had trouble ignoring things he said.  It was a real problem, actually.  He was used to just leaving when things became too complicated and boring. You break a lamp, you leave.  You sever a limb, you leave.  You call them a name that’s not on the safe list, you leave. But now the kid was pressed up against him, and, goddamn his body was hard like steel wires and silicon.

Wade let himself relax, feeling himself ravaged by Pete’s tongue, enclosed by Pete’s arms, weighed down by Pete’s body pressed against his.  This wouldn’t be happening if Pete wanted him to leave.  That meant breakfast was a success!

            _You shot up his ceiling._

_Success!  He likes pancakes!_

_Ceiling…_

_Pancakes!_

            _Little Petey may never know if there’s a fire in his apartment again._

_Pan.  Cakes._

_He asked you to stop discharging weapons in his house._

_P to the A to the N to the motherfucking Cakes, asshole!_

Wade moaned as Peter rubbed against his crotch.  There was something so deliciously fragile about the little hero.  His body was lithe and graceful, all his lean muscles perfectly corded around his narrow frame, hard muscles really.  Wade knew exactly how strong Spider-Man was, having worked with him, which meant that Pete was that strong, every day, all the time. And yet, here he was in a loose T-shirt that was probably going to disintegrate in the next wash it was so flimsy, and basically… kid shorts?  Not like manly man boxers, but like those tight little Jersey shorts that were positively indecent.

            _Mah goodness, Rhett, ah do believe I’m comin’ down with a case of the vapors!_

_Stop that!_

_What, it’s hot in here!_

_We have to fan ourselves._

_Look at the dickprint on the kid and tell me you’re not affected._

The point was, although he was far from it, Peter tended to look completely breakable all the time. Maybe it was his pretty hazel eyes. Maybe it was the fact that he sometimes still looked like a little kid, because someone somewhere had loved him enough to preserve that sweetness instead of beating it out of him like most parents.  And although he couldn’t get enough of the soft lips and hard dicks, Wade was a little worried about the fact that he wanted to be the one to break him.

            _You know you’re not gonna be, idiot.  That kid has a tragic backstory._

_Yeah, there’s, like, three different versions._

_Dead dad, dead mom, dead uncle, dead girl, just people dead all over._

_Have we ever actually asked him about that?_

_How much did we read up on when we were investigating him?_

_Stalking?_

_I had a sign on the door that said ‘Deadpool, P.I.’ like that rough chick out in Hell’s Kitchen.  I was investigating._

_I think it’s different if he tells you._

_Like with the Spider-Man thing?_

_Who?_

_Stop it._

Peter bit his lip and Wade gasped.  “Me,” Pete breathed against his skin.  His hands reached around and began to undo the zippers on Deadpool’s costume.  “You will pay attention to me,” he whispered.

“Yes, baby,” he murmured.

“Stop thinking, and start helping me,” Pete said, grunting in frustration as one of the zippers caught in his hand and refused to budge.

“Whoa, whoa!” Wade said, reaching around quickly.  “Let me; you’re gonna break it with your crazy spider strength.”

“I wasn’t!”

Wade glanced up at him as he released the snag with a quick tug.  “You have a tendency to stick to things when you’re nervous.  I’ve seen it.  It was really hard to explain until last night.”

“Wh—I’m not nervous though!” Peter protested.

“Sure, but god knows what you’re gonna do to my zippers when you’re horny and frustrated!”

Peter blushed a deep red.

With a quick grin, Wade gestured with his chin.  “Now get your ass on the bed.”

The kid was good at following orders, something that differed from his alter-ego.  Spidey _never_ listened to anything he had to say.  It was always ‘No, Deadpool, too many people will die,’ or ‘No Wade, that is going to damage property, and we _need_ that city block to hold up the other city blocks,’ or ‘No Wade, a kitten might get hurt, and I will not buy you a taco if you hurt a kitten,’ blah blah blah.  But sans Spandex, the kid seemed willing to do just about anything, if he asked nice.

Wade wrested himself from his zippers and leather, and unsheathed himself to the waist.  “Get on your hands and knees,” he said, voice husky.

Pete looked up at him with startled eyes, but did what he asked.  “I thought I was going to suck you off…?” he said, hesitant.

“Plenty of time for that, babe,” Wade said, shedding the rest of his outfit.  He hooked a finger into the waistband of the kid’s boxers and yanked them down to his knees.  “But we have a rare opportunity here.  Y’see, your sweet little ass has just recently been fucked.  Probably’s sore as hell, right?”

As he spoke, he began to rub a finger gently along the edge of the anus, watching it as it puckered. He let a finger slip in, breaking the tender surface.  Peter groaned and nodded, his skin instantly coated in a glossy sheen of sweat.

“Well, this is a blessing in disguise.  You’re gonna be all loose from last night, and I’m not talking about your morals here. I’m talking about how… easy,” he grabbed the lube and dabbed some to his fingers before he stuffed two into Pete’s ass, “it will be for me to fuck you again.”  He added another generous dollop of lube, and then began to fuck his lover with his fingers.

Pete moaned, and his hand gripped the sheets.  “W-what about… pain?  It’s sore, is-isn’t it gonna make it worse,” he panted.

“Does it hurt right now?” Wade said, eyeing Pete sharply.

The brown mop of hair shook a negative.  “Not really. Just kind of a burn?  Like… sore muscles?”

“Then that’s fine. A little soreness is fun.”

“D-Did you say fun?” Pete looked back at him, over his shoulder.  His eyes were already sex-glassed, pupils blown and lips as red as maraschinos.

“We’ll get into that later,” Wade said, grinning as Pete groaned again.  “You ready?”

Wade had been aroused for a full five minutes, and his dick was hard enough to beat someone to death with it.

            _Like in ‘Lock, Stock…’_

_That was a 15-inch black dildo._

_Shut up!_

Point was, his cock was ready to go.  With a cursory slick of lube across the tip, he took the time to guide in his tip and then grabbed Peter’s hips.  “Yeah? Ready?”

“Yes,” Pete whimpered. “Please.”

He then shouted as Wade slid his entire length deep into him.  In a breath, Wade was buried to the hilt and he could feel Pete convulse in surprise.  It was a lot of cock to take at once.  He watched as the kid’s hands grasped and picked helplessly at the sheets, searching for something solid to hold him away from ecstasy.  Wade could feel the heavy breaths under his fingers as the lungs expanded, the ribcage pushed out, and the core muscles undulated to accept the air.

Wade gave the kid a minute to get his bearings.  He bit his lip in another grin, loving that this temporary lapse in reason was his doing. When he could see Pete was about to lift his head, he pulled out, nearly all the way.  He paused at the crest and then plunged back in.  Pete’s insides hugged him, hot as liquid metal and still tight, despite all his recent work.  He could feel his hero’s rapid heart beat around him, and he could feel himself on the verge of coming right there.

            _No!_

_Not yet!_

Pete’s garbled cry was enough to tell him that the kid was enjoying himself, and Wade finally let him have it.  Sloppy sex the morning after hot sex.  Nothing better, not even pancakes.  All the sore muscles were twice as sensitive, all the feelings twice as intense. Pete’s hands were pressed against the wall, and Wade thought he could hear a sob from that pretty throat.  It was followed with a helpless plea for ‘more god yes please more ugh uh uh unh yeah’ though, so everything seemed to be going okay down there.  And fortunately, deep fucking was on the menu.  It was always a good day when he could make his Petey happy.

As his hips snapped against the tight ass, Wade could feel everything tightening and aching, and he knew he was not going to last much longer.

“Baby, I can’t… I’m gonna…” he panted.

“Come inside me,” Peter commanded with a moan.

And that did it. His body jerked and his throat let out a deep bellow.  As he felt himself release, he instinctively buried himself as deep as he could into his mate, stroking himself against the walls of that sweet little asshole.  He registered Pete’s hand moving against himself furiously, and then the narrow hips bucked and white cum spurted around his fingers.  Peter’s shout equaled Wade’s in depth and volume.  Before the kid could collapse, Wade slung an arm under his ribs and pulled him up against his chest, effectively setting Pete deeper onto his cock.  The webslinger juddered and moaned, and slumped bonelessly against him.

Wade nuzzled at Peter’s face, surprised and kissing at the tears he found on the hot cheeks. Peter turned towards him and kissed him back weakly.  One of his hands reached up to stroke Wade’s face, and missed, so Wade took it into his own hand and they threaded their fingers together.

“You okay, babe?” he asked.

Peter nodded, and sighed happily.

“Morning-after was good for you?”

Another nod.

“You ready for me to be out of you and maybe to have a shower and more pancakes?”

Another, more emphatic nod.

“You know you cry a lot during sex,” Wade observed.

“Shut up and carry me to the shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... And that's all I wrote. So they lived happily ever after. Pete has a boyfriend who can never die, and Wade has a boyfriend who can bench press him. Trust me, they're going to be fine.


End file.
